


When I Think About You

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon Compliant, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Kylo Ren's Horrifying Take on Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: “You junkyard brat," Kylo taunts. "You should have come with me when you had the chance. Now you and your precious rebellion are finished."Somehow, across the immeasurable vastness of space and time, the Force has once again decided to connect Rey to her mortal enemy. The Jedi Killer. The Supreme Leader. The usurper, the destroyer of planets, the slayer of countless millions. While he jerks off in the shower.





	When I Think About You

**Author's Note:**

> For A, who deserves all the nice things in the world but will have to settle for creepy Star Wars masturbation fic.

“Don’t turn around.”

Rey recognises his voice on the first syllable, and her temper reacts before the rest of her brain. “If you think,” she says, whirling around, “that after everything you’ve done, you can tell me what to – ohhh. Oh, fuck.”

“I told you.”

Rey claps both hands over her eyes, but there’s no unseeing what she just saw. Kylo Ren, naked and sopping wet, his hair plastered to his cheeks and his skin flushed with heat from the shower he’s midway through taking. Except he’s not washing his hair or soaping his pits, which would have been embarrassing enough. He’s not gleaming and flexing his ridiculous muscles like he might if Rey ever fantasised about him as an object of desire, which she most certainly doesn’t. No. Kylo has his hand wrapped around his cock.

Somehow, across the immeasurable vastness of space and time, the Force has once again decided to connect Rey to her mortal enemy. The Jedi Killer. The Supreme Leader. The usurper, the destroyer of planets, the slayer of countless millions. While he jerks off in the shower.

“Why is this happening?” Rey says.

“Well,” says Kylo, who doesn’t even have the decency to sound flustered, “it’s a biological drive that most humans –”

“The connection should have closed when you killed Snoke! He was the one who …” The steam from Kylo’s bathroom must be drifting across the connection. That’s why she feels so hot, and the heat is making it hard to think, which is why her voice is sticking in her throat. “Something else must be causing this. It’s you, isn’t it?” Realisation hits. “You were thinking about me while you … while you …” It’s too much to say aloud.

The truth is, Rey has never seen a man like this before. And Kylo – well, he’s a lot. A lot more than she would have thought, if she’d ever bothered to think about it. Which she hasn’t.

“I was thinking about your humiliating demise,” Kylo says. “The longer you and your rebel friends hide from me, the more time I have to plan your execution. Do you want to hear my latest concept?”

“You’re a pig,” Rey snarls. “For pity’s sake, put some clothes on.”

“No. You’re the one who barged in here. Leave if you don’t like it.”

“I didn’t barge anywhere. This is my bedroom!” Annoyed now beyond the scope of her vocabulary, Rey opens her eyes so she can glare at him. He hasn’t taken his hand off himself. Or made any attempt to cover up. He’s enjoying her discomfort. Which means she can’t look away a second time, because averting her gaze now means giving him exactly what he wants. This is a power play. Some sick new kind of staring contest where whoever blinks first loses.

Once, back on Jakku, Rey won a staring contest with Krinnik the Rakatan ryll trader. Krinnik had a glass eye. She knows how to play this game. Hates Kylo more than ever for baiting her into it.

Oh, she hates every inch of Kylo Ren. His arrogant face and his soft, sulky mouth and his stupid oversized ears that his wet hair shows off to their full disadvantage. The broad slope of his shoulders, the shadow of stubble on his jaw and throat, the little dip in his collarbones where water from the shower pools. Solid chest. Slender hips. Taut stomach. The pale hand still cradling his cock. The hair-raising intensity of his gaze, and his total lack of shame beneath her scrutiny. The fact that, with no view of his surroundings, Rey’s mind has placed his apparition right next to her bed. Her  _bed_.

“You like watching?” His voice is husky now. He’s running his thumb over the head of his cock. Rey’s insides burn, probably due to her natural and righteous revulsion.

“You’re vile.”

“I’m not making you stay.”

“You’re just as capable of leaving as I am, so the fact that you’re choosing to –”

Kylo sighs. His eyes drift shut and he tips his head back like he’s already losing interest. “If you’re going to hang around, be a good girl and keep your mouth shut.”

“Why, you smug, slimy, in _sufferable -_ ” Choked with rage, Rey gives up on words and punches Kylo full in the mouth.

The blow connects.

Her vision changes. She’s still in her bedroom – a stuffy, makeshift little corner of the  _Falcon_ ’s cargo hold – but her own surroundings aren’t all she can see. Now there’s a steamy room with jet black tiles and inlaid wall lighting, and Kylo is standing under the running shower head, holding two fingers to his bleeding lip and staring at her wide-eyed.

" _Don't_ ,"  Rey snarls right into his astonished face, “call me a  _good girl_."

It takes Kylo a moment to rally. But he does rally, and slams Rey back into the shower wall. Water cascades over her, dripping in her eyes and drenching her clothes. The space is too confined for a proper fight. She can’t get the leverage she needs to push him off. They grapple, shoving and swearing, slippery from the water, and Rey is suddenly very conscious of just how naked Kylo is. It’s different when he’s right here in her personal space. It’s realer. More shocking.

“What are you trying to do?” He has her pinned now, trapped against the wall with Kylo’s knee between her thighs and his hands around her wrists and his whole body weight pressed up against her. His voice has an unhinged quality that Rey wishes weren’t so familiar. “Catch me off my guard? You can’t kill me like this. The Force doesn’t work that way, which you would know if you’d ever bothered to –”

“Shut up,” Rey says.

“I’m going to find you,” Kylo taunts. “You junkyard brat, you should have come with me when you had the chance. Your precious rebellion is finished and you’re going down with them. I’m going to enjoy watching you fall apart, and with your dying breath you’ll beg me to –”

“Shut  _up_ ," Rey says, and kisses him.

It’s not a gentle kiss. Not the stuff of dreams, or the storybook version of what first kisses are supposed to be like. It’s as if Rey’s brain has short-circuited, as if she’s sunk so deep into her hatred that she’s dropped out the bottom and landed on a whole new emotion. She bites his bloody lip, tastes copper, hears his breath hitch. She shoves her tongue inside his mouth and claws at his shoulders, and the rest of Kylo’s murderous speech dissolves into a throaty whimper.

She hates him for that, too.

“Go on, then,” she says against his lips. Water pours down overhead and her clothes are heavy, plastered to her skin. “You want an audience? You’ve got one. For once in your life, finish what you’ve started.” She wrench her hands free of his grip, and he makes no effort to stop her. He doesn’t resist when she pushes herself off the wall and turns them around so that he’s the one pinned. Without a weapon, Rey has absolutely no chance of keeping him there against his will. But that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment.

Kylo’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he’s hard against her hip. Rey grabs his hand and guides it between their bodies back to his cock. He tries to catch her wrist, make her touch him, but she yanks her arm free and steps back out of range. “No. You can do it yourself.”

“You do like watching,” says Kylo, who apparently can’t tell the difference between desire and disdain. It’s definitely disdain Rey is feeling. Disdain that’s making her ache and throb inside as she watches him pick up his pace again, a little faster now, a little more urgent. “Will you enjoy watching me kill your friends?” He bites his lip. “All your beloved traitors and rebel scum. I’ll string them up in front of you and –”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. All this time Rey thought ‘getting off on violence’ was a figure of speech. “You won’t lay a hand on us,” she says. She takes another step back to illustrate her point. “This is the closest you’ve been to me since Crait, and I’m not even really here. But you can fantasise all you want. Am I fighting in this sick little dream of yours? Or am I resigned to my fate?”

“You’re – you’re begging for mercy,” Kylo says. He’s starting to struggle with words. He braces his free hand against the shower glass; wet hair hangs in front of his face, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her. This is the Supreme Leader of the galaxy. The nightmare who has haunted Rey’s dreams for so long now. “But I won’t – not since you – oh –”

And just like that, he’s gone. His eyes scrunch closed and his mouth falls open around a silent shout of pleasure, and Rey hates him so much that it’s all she can do not to close the gap between them. To take advantage of his distraction so she can hurt him, and definitely not to grab a handful of his hair and kiss him until he forgets how to breathe.

Kylo lets go of himself, and rinses the cum off his hand, and leans his forehead against the tiles and pants for breath. He doesn’t look so evil, like this. He looks –

He lifts his head, and to Rey’s horror, all his taunting aggression has melted away. “Rey,” he says, and the way he says her name sounds intimate like a hand on her heart. Like clawed fingers crushing the ventricles and cutting off blood flow. “You know I didn’t really mean –”

Rey pulls back so hard that the bond snaps clean. Kylo’s bathroom dissolves, and all she can see is her shabby little stow-hold with its pile of secondhand consoles and a collapsible bed pushed into the corner. It creaks when she sits down.

She’s alone. She’s saturated. Water soaks into her mattress, and she flops back and stares up at the ceiling. That was too close. Rey can deal with – well, whatever the fuck Kylo’s performance was suppose to be. That’s fine. But she can’t deal with hearing her name like that. Not from him.

The throbbing ache between her legs won’t quit. Her skin feels too tight for her body. Somewhere far away across the galaxy, presumably, Kylo Ren climbs out of the shower and dries himself off.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are much loved!


End file.
